


Do You Remember?

by ThatMerlinFangirl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Comfort, Dancing, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Memories, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8662381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatMerlinFangirl/pseuds/ThatMerlinFangirl
Summary: Merlin and Mordred reminisce about happier times.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note in case this is confusing: this fic is set in an alternate universe where Merlin and Mordred grew up together in a Druid camp.

Mordred can sense something is wrong the moment Merlin sets foot in the room.  
He's not quite sure what it is, perhaps the dull, world-weary look in his eyes or the hunched way he carries himself, or his magic, the way it droops soulfully or perhaps just attuned instincts from knowing each other for so long, but he immediately puts away his papers and focuses his attention on the sorcerer.  
Merlin drags himself over to the bed and flops down on it, no force, no anger, just a little sigh that nearly breaks Mordred's heart.  
"What's wrong?" he asks.  
"Nothing." comes the automatic reply.  
"Merlin."  
Another sigh. "I don't know... how about everything?"  
Mordred sits next to him on the bed. "Tell me about it."  
"He's going to execute them," Merlin turns away from him. "They're to die tomorrow. The whole family. And I didn't do a bloody thing."  
"You cannot right every wrong."  
"I should be able to! You said it yourself! I'm supposed to be the saviour of magic and all I've ever done is turn Arthur against it! I -"  
Merlin cuts himself off. Quiet sobs echo in Mordred's mind.   
_I can't do it Mordred. Albion will never bloody rise. It's a fool's dream, nothing more. I can't..._  
 _Ssh_. Mordred strokes his hair gently, trying to think of something that will reach the small part of Merlin that is still young and hopeful, unscarred by what he's seen, what he's lost.  
 _Do you remember the first time I kissed you?_  
They were still young, just shy of sixteen. It was a hot summer afternoon, one best spent lazing around by the lake all day, and as they shrieked with laughter and splashed at each other, Mordred had suddenly drawn Merlin to him and kissed him, in a giddy moment of delirium that all young adults experience.  
He'd pulled away, expecting a rebuke - he received another kiss, deeper and truer, as the sunlight reflected off the waterfall in glittering shards.  
Merlin sniffles, but his magic seems to light up a little, so Mordred continues.  
 _Do you remember the time we were messing around with fire spells and we accidentally set fire to the Elders' robes? Mother scolded us so much you cried but then she felt so bad about it she gave us a great big slice of seed cake each instead?_  
He pictures the sweet cake crumbling in his mouth, the smell of smoke and cotton.  
 _Remember we used to sneak out at night and look at the stars? You always knew which one was which and I could never remember._  
 _And the time I broke my ankle and you spent all day making up stories for me?_  
 _Remember that day Father took us out foraging and we saw a unicorn? It was the colour-_  
- _of fresh, untrodden snow. Yes, I remember._  
Mordred can sense a weak smile forming on Merlin's face.  
 _Giving our tutors the slip to go and play in the forest._  
 _Making little wooden dragons._  
 _Yours was terrible._  
 _How very dare you. I'm a Dragonlord I'll have you know._  
 _I saved you from getting eaten by a wild beast._  
 _And I helped you peel a mountain of potatoes when you got into trouble for fighting with Raoul._  
They chuckle silently in their minds. Mordred thinks of those stolen glances, of holding hands when they thought no one was looking, secret passions in the dead of night.  
 _I always remember the festivals best._ Merlin looks wistful. _Building a great big bonfire and wearing the special cloaks and wreaths. Eating currant bread. Everyone singing and dancing._    
 _And Freya always got really jealous because she wanted to dance with you but I always asked you first._  
Merlin giggles. _Did she? I never noticed._  
Mordred stands up and extends his hand with an over-the-top bow. "Might I have the honour of a dance my fair lady Merlin?"  
Merlin rolls his eyes. "Why of _course_ Sir Mordred. Who could _possibly_ refuse you?"  
"Shut up." Mordred pulls him off the bed and places one hand on his waist. And suddenly they're teenagers again, dancing in the heat and flames with sore throats but singing with all their might.  
Merlin starts humming and tapping his foot. Mordred guides him across his chamber and back, with small, quick steps. They sway, growing more confident. Merlin twirls under his arm. Mordred lifts him off the ground in a clumsy flight, their singing spiked with laughter.   
Merlin burrows his face in his chest. They move still, but slower, gentler, as the memories become almost too painful to bear.  
 _I_ _miss_ _them_.  
 _I know love. I do too._  
They dance and they hold each other and their tears mingle as, for a moment, they can lose themselves in happier times.


End file.
